Things Fall Apart
by Progeny Ex Machina
Summary: Caithe was too late to save Eir from herself. This is the aftermath. Zojja-centric. Dark fic. AU.


**A/N:** I don't even like sad stories. Why do I keep writing them? And reading them...and favoriting them...

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything related to GW2.

* * *

_You killed her, you know._

Zojja ignored the voice, concentrating on the piece of trinketry she was repairing. She wasn't in her main laboratory; she rarely left her own quarters anymore. The room was infuriatingly small, but at least she could be alone. She never used to mind people treating her like an arcane reactor on critical - she still commanded respect, after all, and there were plenty of halfway competent asura lined up to work for her, so what did she care if they were afraid of her?

_You did this. It's your fault._

But now it was different. The looks were different. The respect she deserved from them was tainted, diluted, attenuated. They still handled her at arm's length, but for one of two reasons, and neither of them was fear anymore.

One was pity. As soon as she had started hearing the voice, she had undergone a thorough medical and psychological examination to locate the cause. (The results had been inconclusive.) Word traveled quickly in the small city. People knew. They knew she was hearing things in her head. And they thought she couldn't sense the whispers: that she'd finally cracked, that her obsession with her old master's legacy had gotten the better of her, that her descent into madness clearly proved her inferiority. She knew, of course, that her mental faculties were as sharp as ever...but such a thing could easily become a self-fulfilling rumor if people didn't _shut up_ about it.

_The only person you're fooling is yourself._

The other was accusation. It was rare nowadays, since most people in Rata Sum didn't give much thought to anything beyond their work, their ideas, and any potential failings of those they strove to outdo. The latter group, of course, included her. They didn't care _what_ had happened, only that she seemed to be slipping. But on the occasions when Zojja ventured back into the rest of the world, or when travelers came to the city, they would look at her, and she knew they hated her for what she-what they believed she had done. Mistakenly, of course. She had been completely uninvolved. She could not divine another person's actions in advance, nor could she control them.

It wasn't _her_ fault.

_You know better than that, don't you?_

She didn't care about anyone's opinions, truth be told, but it got tiresome having to deal with such toxic amounts of idiocy in the atmosphere. So she had sequestered herself in her room, only coming out to grab things from her laboratory or purchase necessities (although her metabolism seemed to have slowed considerably; she rarely felt the need or desire to eat anymore). Only somebody as intelligent and resourceful as she could be so productive in such a limiting environment, after all, so it was only logical that nobody else understood it.

_You killed her, you know._

The only sign that Zojja had heard the voice was the whitening of her knuckles on the wrench. Almost imperceptibly, her eyes narrowed, and her jaw clenched. She was not Eir's keeper. If the norn wanted to run off and get herself killed, that was her decision. And maybe it was for the best, since she clearly couldn't handle the truth. Zojja had only told her what everyone else already knew. Logan may have run off like a lovestruck fool to his queen's side, taking a large portion of the group's defensive capabilities with him, but Eir was the one who said they could win the battle despite their disadvantage. _Her_ decision ruined everything.

_Nothing can justify the things you said._

But it was all true. Eir was worthless. Nobody needed a leader who made bad decisions. Nobody needed a leader who got them killed. Snaff trusted her, and she failed him. _Zojja_ trusted her, and she paid for it. They all paid for it. No more. She didn't need anyone else. If she wanted something done right, she'd do it herself. She would face the dragons, and she would win. She was a genius. She could do anything.

_You don't stand a chance. Not alone._

"Shut up," Zojja said aloud. In the corner, Garm raised his head. She knew why he had come to her. He had been there when she said those things to Eir, and he had been there with Eir on her suicide mission. He was there when she died. The wolf was beginning to warm up to Zojja, but she knew he would always blame her for the loss of his master. And she knew that if he'd had the option, he would have chosen anyone else, anyone at all. But she was the only one left.

Caithe had pursued the norn into the kodan sanctuary, but she couldn't catch up in time to save her. It had broken the last strings of her faith; she finally came to believe that Destiny's Edge would never again reunite. Eir was gone, and Zojja was lost. The once-proud group had crumbled beyond all hope. In the depths of her despair, she turned to the one stable thing that remained: her estranged love. Faolain rejoiced at finally being reunited with the object of her desperation, and softened considerably as Caithe took her place at her side. It was empty comfort at first, regaining the one she loved most at the cost of her integrity, but eventually she, too, melted into Nightmare's embrace.

Zojja didn't care. She really didn't. The concerns of the plant people were none of her business. That annoyingly optimistic salad girl wasn't her friend, and never had been. She didn't need friends. She didn't _want_ friends. Friends took her on detours from her real duties. Friends destroyed everything that actually mattered.

_They aren't the ones who destroyed everything._

As for Logan and Rytlock, the infatuated imbecile and the savage simpleton, nobody had heard from either of them in months. They had simply disappeared. Some said they had been killed chasing after some power-mad Flame Legion fanatic in his volcanic citadel. Others said they had gone and blended in with this Pact that had sprung up all of a sudden, just two more fighters amidst a hodgepodge of forces. A few even claimed they had run off to start a new life together, someplace where nobody would find them. Zojja thought little of this particular theory, but it didn't matter. They were just as worthless as the others. She didn't care about them.

_It's your fault. They could have come back together. They could have overcome their past, if only you had set the example._

Her muscles tensed, and she breathed harshly through her teeth. She would not listen to the voice. It wasn't real. It was just an illusion, goading her, testing her. Nothing it said held any meaning or validity. Nothing. Nothing at all. She _wasn't_ responsible for these people's lives. She didn't need to babysit them. She didn't care what happened to them. It was all just getting in the way. She furiously twisted a cog, but without her usual caution or care, it snapped off in her hands. She growled and flung the remains back onto her workstation. Garm's ears twitched, but otherwise he was still, all life sapped out of him from the loss of his constant companion.

_You've brought nothing but death into their lives._

"Shut up!" she yelled, picking up the now-ruined part and hurling it against the wall. "You don't know anything! Leave me alone. Just leave me alone!" Her hands shook. Her body trembled. In a rage, she flung her arms out wildly, knocking items off her desk. Bits and pieces of haphazard inventions crashed to the floor; more hit the wall behind them as she blindly tore apart the space around her. She didn't need it. It was junk. Leave her alone, leave her _alone_, she hadn't done _anything_, she didn't _care_, just _leave her alone_-

Letting out one last shriek of aggression, she shoved her desk over, reeling back into the wall from the force of it. As it toppled to the floor, she slid down the wall, knees coming up to meet her chest, hands clutching her head. She buried her face in her legs and vainly tried not to hyperventilate. She didn't know. She didn't know Eir would die. She didn't care. She didn't care, she didn't, but she _did_, it was _her_ fault, if she hadn't _said_ those things, if she hadn't been such a complete _idiot_, if she had _known_...

Her rapid, wheezing breaths were turning to sobs, her whole body convulsing. She never wanted this. She never wanted to strip away Eir's will to live. She never wanted to shatter Caithe's unfailing hope. She never wanted to drive Logan and Rytlock into hiding. She wanted everything back the way it was, back before the battle that ruined everything, back before they all hated each other. Back when they were all together and vanquishing dragon minions across the map and everything looked so bright. She would appreciate what she had, if she could do it all over again, she would appreciate her friends and her mentor and her victories and her future. She would do it right, if she could just go back...

_You killed her, you know._

"I know," choked Zojja, rocking slightly against the wall. Garm quietly padded over and rested his head on her feet, and they sat alone among the wreckage of things that no longer mattered. "I know."


End file.
